I'm Not Dead
by ezyl
Summary: I have cancer, but cancer doesn't have me. Instead, I'll smile and move on.


**I am abandoning Inui's Fangirl for the moment, as I focus my attention on Yukimura. And my inspiration from the Kaiser Permanente radio commercial. And if you live in the USA, I think you know where I'm going with this...**

**Disclaimer: Don't own them. (droops)**

**I don't slash. Ever. I like some yaoi pairings, but I don't slash myself. This COULD be viewed as hinted SanaYuki or YukiTezu (I think there's a pairing name for that, but I don't really know...), but I only labeled it as Angst. It's not really angsty. Still.**

**Oh, and there is, once again, unwarned POV change. It's sort of a 1st pov and 2nd pov mix, except the 2nd pov changes constantly. You'll know what I'm talking about.**

* * *

"Yukimura-san, I want to let you know how regretful I am to be the bearer of such news." You wipe your beefy, sweaty palms against your white coat.

Don't tell me. I already know.

The subtle, belittling actions you choose to put yourself in front of me are too obvious to ignore. I can hear the nurses' whisper among themselves behind my back. "Such a young, handsome boy," they giggle, with their hands in front of their mouths, "so soon for him to go…"

I'm not deaf, you know. I know, perfectly well, what is going on. I know it's sad. I know it's painful.

Instead, I smile.

"What is it, Iwamura-san?"

You open your mouth, and horror ensues.

"You have –"

I blot out the last bit. A dent in the moment, spilled ink on the page.

The harbinger of doom has landed.

You, doctor, you are more evil than Akaya in his devil mode. With three words, you have cut through all of my hopes, my dreams, my desires. With three words, you have brought about my demise, my end. Slashed an end to my life.

I wonder if you find pleasure in doing this. In watching people suffer after you have told them something so drastic. How can you still smile like that? I am not a child who has just been told that he will soon be having his last birthday. I cannot be joyful of recent happiness.

"We calculate that you have about another year. This type of cerebral tumor is sluggish and only painful near the end. We will give you some antibiotics to battle most of the pains, but any chance of survival is under 0.7."

You sound like Renji. Before every tennis match, he would recite all the statistical standings of every regular player and give a detailed counterattack to every member of the group, printed (every time) on the same thin, white rice paper – the kind you would wrap sushi in. Most of us would ignore him, but I always saved those helpful tips he'd written down. More because I enjoyed the texture of the paper, but also because I know he'd put a lot of time into his research. Renji worked hard. He told me that the data he had on his former doubles partner had never been complete – and probably never will be – and he transferred to Rikkai to see if he could revoke his old experiments on fresh blood. What a tensai. I'm sure Bunta would disagree, but I think it's perfectly understandable.

"…However, your stunning physical ability tells me that we can allow you to leave the hospital. You will, of course, at the end of one year report back to this room, but as for now, here are your release forms."

You brandish a thick stack of tree excretions, large, typed font (the font they used for elderly people) printed on the top – _nothing _like Renji's elegant rice paper – and then hand over a chunky-tipped ink pen. You push your frighteningly clean spectacles much too far up your flat nose. Clasp your notebook of death to your chest (so much like Renji that I begin to wonder if the two of you are related), and stride out of the sickroom as if you were walking on stilts. Are you trying to exaggerate your movements, like the How-To-Be-A-Doctor Handbook taught you, so as to notify the patient that you are exiting the room? How rude. Everything you have is thick and chunky, almost like the Lego blocks I used to play with as a boy. I'm not a boy anymore.

Instead, I smile. I smile, like you're the one making the joke.

I lean forward.

"Iwamura-san. One more thing." I smile again.

"Yes? What can I do?"

You say this like you're doing me a favor, respecting a dead man's wishes. I'm not going to die.

"Please, I would like it if you kept this from everyone but my family. Don't tell anyone else, not my friends at school, not my teachers, and, above all, not Sanada-san."

I give another grin. My muscles are beginning to ache.

Especially not Genichirou. He wouldn't let me play in the Nationals. Rikkai is going to win this year. I just know it. But we can't without me. _That _much is clear. I have to find some time to scold Genichirou for his carelessness in being defeated by a freshman. He's already very hard on himself, slapping Akaya more often than needed, but it can't hurt with a little more criticism.

"Yukimura-san, if you're thinking of playing tennis, you have to take a whole new list of painkillers. And just after your operation – you're lucky you have your entire body and all of your legs back. Not to mention the result of your cancer –"

I don't want to hear about it. Not now.

"Like I said, you're a very lucky boy."

I know.

Smiles. A little laugh, "Alright, then. I guess you know me well enough by now, Iwamura-san…just promise me, don't disclose any of this to my teammates."

I will only tell one person of this.

Doctor straightens his mighty coat, "Very well. Now, please sign these papers. I'm sure you wouldn't want to stay in this place any longer!" You fake a chuckle.

I have the urge to snap your neck, Iwamura-_san_. Not only do you tell me that I have a brain tumor the size of a fist in my head (which was, apparently, the cause of my illness) without prior warning, but you're already treating me like a mentally retarded patient.

When I leave the hospital, it will be with relief. And joy. Utter joy of being freed from this prison. From you, the poor, sad doctor who has to deal with the absolute _pain_ of informing patients of their illness.

--

"Yukimura."

Pray tell, Sanada-kun. What could it be today? You say my name like Bunta chewing bubblegum, popping it into your mouth, savoring it so that it makes me sick to hear your hoarse, mature voice deliver it my name. Are you in love with me, Sanada-kun? I think it very possible.

I am not in a good mood today. You can tell. You constantly watch all of my movements and match them carefully, trying to please me by making smart comments. It's rather amusing, really.

I smile again. I wonder if I'll ever get tired of this whole smiling business. Maybe, I could go through one day with a big frown on my face and see how people react. It might be good for Renji's data.

"Yukimura. What did Iwamura-san say to you?"

"Nothing."

You know I am lying through my teeth. Most people would not, as they don't think of me as a liar. But you would know.

"Yukimura. Can you play in the Nationals?"

"Yes, I can. That is without question, Sanada-kun."

"Very well. I will give up Singles 1 for you."

"You will do that."

You and I hold the most awkward of conversations, Sanada-kun. But you seem to enjoy them whole-heartedly. I think I might be able to, too. If I weren't – no.

I won't think about unnecessary things.

Instead, I smile and give you a friendly pat on that back. You stiffen, and shoot me a furtive look.

Oh, this is so much fun.

--

"Tezuka-san. We need to talk."

The café was, surprisingly, quite silent when I uttered the last few words. I don't know why I'm even _trying_ to stage a conversation with the stony buchou of Seigaku. I would much prefer Fuji-san, but, needless to say, blackmail would come rolling in through the cracks of my doors if I even _began_ a personal conversation with him.

He tips the rest of his mug of black coffee (sans cream and sugar) down his throat, and looks at me seriously, "Is this about the Nationals?"

You read my thoughts, Tezuka-san.

"I will be playing in the Singles 1 slot."

"Ah. You want Echizen, don't you?"

I smiled, "That is correct."

When he gets up to leave, I feel the urge to pull him down.

"Wait…"

I am acting on impulse, my brain freezing as I reach for his sleeve to tug him back down. He obliges, and stares at me pointedly.

"What else do you have to discuss, Yukimura-san?"

"Tezuka…I –"

I glance around, checking for any hidden cameras, suspicious-looking notebooks, for Renji, Inui, Mizuki Hajime, any other possible stalkers and spies.

"I have cancer. The doctor told me today."

He doesn't flinch, doesn't pull back, makes no expression on his face but one of slight puzzlement. For once, I am relieved, and take my hand out of his sleeve.

"So?"

"If I lose in the Nationals, please don't judge my skills based on that."

I walk out of the coffee shop before I can receive any other reaction (and also, effectively leaving Tezuka with the bill).

I have cancer, but cancer doesn't have me.

And so I smile. This time, a real one.

I am dying. But I don't care.

I'm not dead yet.

I still have those Nationals to win.

* * *

**A/N: Confusing, ne? I'm going for "simple and powerful". You can tell that I'm (obviously) failing. I'm like Shinji...can't stop mumbling to myself and adding unnecessary stuff.**

**It's - oddly - one of my favorite one-shots I've ever written.**

**Thanks for reading! As always, please review! It'll help me. I'm (still) experimenting with different POVs and writing styles...**

**And, if you can spare some time, please take a look at my other fics, especially the Inui's Fangirl and my new ShinjiAnn (yes, a unique pair) one-shot. I currently have, in my poll (profile), one vote for continuing Inui's Fangirl and one for discontinuing it. Helpful, hn?**


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